After Nott and Draco had finished their meeting, Draco went to pose for Martin, who'd arrived at the Manor and was currently setting up in the library. Hermione knew Draco most likely wanted her in the library then, but she had reached the end of her rope and felt so restless she practically vibrated. She all but flung herself outside.
The sun was out but covered, and the day was cool—a heavy mist hung in the atmosphere and thick clouds spanned across the sky. She could see faint wisps of her breath appear before her as she began to walk hard, glad she'd had enough sense to remember to fetch a cloak before heading out.
Draco's voice was silk in her head.
And where are you going, wife?
Out, was her terse reply. Don't come after me. I just need to walk.
If you wish. But keep in mind the Healer said you shouldn't tax yourself too much. Your spell wasn't that long ago, after all.
It's just walking, Draco. I'll be fine. Besides, if I want to get to where I was before, I need to push myself.
I admire your strength, he replied. If anything happens, reach for me and I'll come, my love.
Understood.
There was no response and she walked on, her heart racing. Despite the cool weather she felt overheated and irritable inside her cloak—she simultaneously wanted to shrug it off and draw it tighter around herself.
There was the sound of Apparition and suddenly there was another pair of footsteps crunching along the ground beside her own.
"Are you alright?" Pansy asked, falling into stride beside her quickly.
"I don't know," Hermione admitted, closing her eyes to relish in the scant heat of the sun, half-hidden behind a stretch of clouds. A headache had begun to form—her face felt like it was burning. "I think so."
"Where are we going?" Pansy asked. "Draco didn't tell me. He just ordered me to accompany you."
"To the village. Anywhere. I don't care," Hermione said, pushing some strands of hair from her face. "I needed to be out of the house for a while. I need a long walk so I'd rather not Apparate, if you don't mind."
"Of course. I could walk a distance behind you, if you prefer to be alone."
Hermione's expression softened, and she turned to Pansy.
"No," she said, trying to smile. "Stay with me."
The walk would be long—when they came to the edge of Draco's protective wards Hermione felt her features shifting. She looked down at herself and found she was much taller, with tanned skin and long blonde hair. Pansy was inspecting herself as well and now had olive skin and charming freckles that spanned her face, her hair several shades lighter that glowed in the sunlight. There was the slightest resistance in the magic as they passed through it—to Hermione it always felt like Draco's arms pulling her back when she rolled away from him in bed. She pushed forward and the magic slipped away, allowing her out of its grasp almost reluctantly, as it did every time she ventured past the border.
In their first home, the grounds had been larger and the border had been a longer distance away. In the immediate months after her capture, Draco had kept her locked in the manor, and when he'd finally let her out, she'd tried finding the limits of his land and its wards. He had warned her of the spells surrounding and that she could not pass them, but she had wanted to see it for herself. It had taken her several failed attempts until she had finally managed it. Until her success, almost as if he knew and resented her determination, he would find her and haul her back inside the manor to distract her some way or another. When she'd finally reached it, she had thrown herself against that invisible barrier until it felt her body might break into pieces and she was bruised all over. She had scratched at it until her nails broke off and bled, and she had screamed and howled for help for so long she had lost her voice.
There hadn't been anybody past the wards. The only thing she'd seen was a vast green landscape, stretching on for miles beyond what it took her to reach those limits, and there hadn't been a sign of human life within that vastness.
Draco had not come for her then. When the sky had gone dark and the temperature dropped she had hobbled back to the manor, pained but not defeated, and she had made sure to convey that in her expression when she reached the door and found Draco there waiting, his gaze like a vacuum that sucked her back into his hold.
Hermione blinked the memory away, steeling herself. Beside her, Pansy had not noticed and so said nothing.
They were silent for a while. Hermione's thick robe and woolen scarf kept her warm easily at first but with the exertion of her quick pace she was now beginning to overheat. She felt sweat dewing her skin underneath her layers, and her breath poured out in silky vapors in front of her as she breathed. The sky ahead was clouded but brilliant beneath that loosely woven blanket of clouds—the sun itself peered at them now and then, illuminating the landscape vividly.
She pulled more air into her lungs.
If I could walk until the end of time and never have to spend another moment in his presence, I'd do it.
Hermione's eyes drank it all in. Her hand was in the pocket of her robe, holding her concealed wand for comfort though there was no apparent threat. A light sheen of sweat shone on her skin. Her headache had gotten worse. She felt like the inside of a worn cauldron—beaten and marked, infused with the magic and ingredients of past brews, awaiting its next lot silently.
An empty, voiceless vessel.
Not anymore.
She'd always had a voice, and had used it without hesitation, yet for the better part of a decade she had been treated just like that poor, silent cauldron. She had been beaten and worn thin, but she still remained. Draco was right in that, at least—she was strong to have lasted thus far. Even without his meddling with the Horcrux, she would have lasted. Much as sometimes she didn't want to.
"Where was Draco this morning?"
"I don't know," Pansy said. "I believe he mentioned having to pay somebody a visit, but he didn't tell me who."
"Hm."
"I take it you had an…informative talk with George today," Pansy ventured carefully.
Hermione turned to look at her. "Did you know what he's done?"
Pansy nodded. "My Lord gave me the barest information about him since he arrived. Everything I know, I learned from the others. I'm often too busy to speak to anyone else."
"He told me what he did," Hermione said, her voice rasping. "Who he's killed."
"Yes," Pansy said. "They celebrated each successful mission of his."
"It's not just that." A stab of pain ran through Hermione. "They stopped looking for me years ago."
Pansy almost skipped a step, surprised. She caught herself quickly, but her face was full of sorrow.
"I'm sorry. That mustn't have been easy to hear."
"It doesn't matter now," Hermione said, breathing hard as they forged on. They'd entered a forest and took pains to not trip over any root or fallen branch.
"It makes sense," she continued. "They were having so much trouble finding any clue that would help them find me. I understand why they did it—I might have expected it, even—but I'm still angry. I can't help it."
Pansy chose not to say anything, knowing her friend wanted to vent.
"I feel like such a fool," Hermione said, hissing that last word as she reached out and struck at a branch that posed an obstacle to her crossing. It broke with a loud snap and flew off to the side. "Like an idiot. I spent so long waiting on them, hoping they could save me when nothing I tried worked. All that time and they'd either abandoned me or got themselves killed."
"It probably wasn't an easy decision for them," Pansy offered.
"No, I can't imagine it was," Hermione conceded bitterly, ducking under more branches as she advanced. "I understand why they did it. I do. But I needed them. I had helped them. And they couldn't help me. For years, Draco's been telling me it's their fault he was able to kidnap me. I always defended them. But he was right."
Granted, she bore as much blame as they did. Had she not let her emotions overwhelm her at finding Harry's note on her bed and blatantly disregarding his warning to not go after them, she might have saved herself this life.
If at least for another year.
"If I hadn't been so blind and stupid, I'd have realized it sooner that they'd never come."
Draco was always one step ahead, always. No matter how much faith she had in Harry, Neville, and the others, she had to face the facts that they had only ever been able to close in on them when Draco nudged them along. If he felt like it. And by then, he'd have sprinted leagues ahead anyway, so it hardly mattered.
She'd been alone all that time. Even with Draco binding her to him, she had been alone.
She had been the one to save herself each time she'd managed to escape, and it was by her own fault that each time he'd managed to rip her right back into his realm. It had been through her own power, although unconscious, that she'd managed to unlock the doors of the balcony. It had been Blaise who had taken her to the Battle of Hogwarts, and he had helped her destroy the diadem. From there she'd found her way to the Burrow. She had slipped free of Draco's restraints on the day of the final battle and had fled the Manor and entered the battlefield in time to watch as Draco murdered Harry.
She still wasn't quite sure how that had happened, either. She had gone over it many times in her head, since, and could only attribute it to another unconscious loosing of magic.
He'd woken her that day and told her where he was heading, what he was going to do, and who else would be there. She had immediately begged to go, asked him not to do it, to spare them all. He had only grinned, and said once he got back home, they would celebrate. She had tried to seduce him and pull him back into bed, praying it would work so that he would stay and forget about the carnage he would inevitably inflict. For the first time in their marriage he rejected her and left, stationing a guard outside their room so that she might not try to leave.
She'd rushed after him anyway, still begging, threatening and swearing but he'd gone anyway, and she'd been trapped in their bedroom, shivering and internally praying that Harry would be the victor. He'd been gone for hours, and she had paced frantically within their bedroom, attempting again to break the stained-glass window, not even bothering to call to the guard or beg for help, knowing he'd ignore her. All she'd been able to think of was her friends and wonder if any of them would survive. She had tried to assure herself that Harry had faced Voldemort multiple times and lived, but the haunting certainty that his luck had long since run out would not leave her mind. That, and the very real knowledge that Draco and Voldemort were very different.
She had been shaking, holding her elbows, trying to stand still to ward off the tremors. She could still remember the intense anxiety and desperation that had gripped her until she'd thought her head might burst. At some point—she didn't know when—her anxiety and fear had smoothed over like glass, and all she'd felt was determination.
She had gone to the door, ready to pound and smash at it with her fists, but it had opened before she'd even raised a hand. The guard was on the ground, dead asleep. And so had been the one at the main door of the manor.
There had been no time to wonder at how it had happened. She had found a Portkey tucked inside the pocket of the guard at the main door, took it, and found herself a short distance behind Draco, frozen in horror as she saw the final seconds of his duel against Harry, when Harry had been too exhausted and preoccupied with blocking a barrage of curses to avoid the jet of green light that had come from the side and struck him in the head.
Many had screamed, and she had been among them. Nobody noticed her in the ensuing calamity. People had begun to retreat, to Apparate away, but Draco's followers had already begun to kill the rest or to captures others indiscriminately. By then a few of them had recognized her and shouted at her to go home, to stop at once. And two had chased after her, their faces pale with fear, knowing a reckoning would be due the moment Draco saw her there on the battlefield. By then, she'd seen Draco advance on Neville, and had hurtled toward them.
Draco had pretended at being furious that she'd escaped. He had threatened punishment. But she knew beyond a doubt that he'd been secretly pleased. Either at her finding him victorious on the battlefield or at the fact that she hadn't ran away to any other place where it might take him longer to find her.
If he'd really been furious, he would have ignored her pleas and killed Neville, as well. But he'd let him go, and it had only been Neville from that point on who had bothered trying to help her, still.
(Draco had killed the guards stationed at the manor afterwards, when they had come home. It hadn't been their fault, and they surely would have held her back had her magic not spelled them asleep. They were followers of Draco's and had likely committed evil acts, but she'd still cried at seeing their bodies when Draco had finished with them. She'd told him it had been her fault, but he hadn't believed her then. Luckily, Pansy wouldn't enter Draco's employment until a few years after, so she had been spared from that fate.)
It was still too late, however.
When Neville and Luna had found her, the timing had been ill—how could she leave without Lucio? Even if Draco hadn't found out about their scheme and restored her magic, he still would have made the Horcrux. He might say he would never harm Lucio but she wouldn't dare leave that to be tested…even if Neville came again and she had Lucio with her, it was too late.
And by a matter of a few weeks, too. That was the part that hurt the most.
She might have been freed had luck been on her side, but it had abandoned her too, long ago.
The worst of the damage had been done.
Hermione Granger is gone.
Well and truly.
All that remained was her new identity—the one Draco had forced onto her and she had refused year upon year.
Hermione Malfoy. I still hate the sound of it.
"I never should have trusted them. I should have learned my lesson the first time they left me behind." She laughed wryly. "I was so blind. They're all dead now—or nearly all of them, anyway. I hope they know what I am from wherever they are, and I hope they know this lies on their hands as much it does on Draco's."
Pansy frowned but dared say nothing.
"I know it's cruel," Hermione said. "I don't care. Let them suffer a fraction of what I've been through."
"They must have suffered, Hermione," Pansy said, unsettled. "Surely they must have, with the war…"
"A handful of battles," Hermione said dismissively. "It took took a couple years until it was over. They got to die. They got to choose how they'd dedicate their lives even if it meant dying for a doomed cause." She scoffed. "And what good did it do? Harry killed Voldemort. Then what? Draco took his place almost immediately after because they couldn't manage him in time. He'll make sure we never die—or that we don't for a very long time. The only choice I had was to join him and get my power back or continue to be weak."
A drop of sweat rolled down her temple.
"And I did it. I have my power back. But I'll still rot."
Pansy hesitated.
"Maybe we should go back," she suggested. "You look unwell, my Lady. Tell me how I can help you."
Hermione shook her head.
"I'm fine."
Breathing hard, Hermione stopped and put her hand against the trunk of the nearest tree to steady herself. Pain throbbed at her temples. She felt Pansy rush over and hold her by the waist as if she thought she were about to fall.
The voice was stern.
Do not cry.
She had no such intention. It was rage that burned at her eyes, not sadness. It threatened to warp her vision. And she had been repressing this furious wave all day as she'd been forced to interact with three fools.
There's some solace in that, knowing I'm not the only one.
She couldn't even laugh at that. She felt restless and over sensitized, like she would burst if she didn't make it stop. She felt her magic burning up inside her again and it was just like when Draco had taken off her ring…was she going under again? None of them had considered that it might happen again. Terror clogged her throat.
She heard branches creaking around her and looked up to see they were all curling in on themselves in the way that a spider's legs do when it dies. Splinters fell onto the ground as they continued to crack and break. The trunk of the tree directly behind her began to blister, as if she were emanating a substantial amount of heat.
Frowning, she stared down at her hands.
How am I doing that?
She remembered the library trembling around her, Draco intentionally stoking her temper.
How could she make it stop? She had been trying her magic out in smallish doses. Even as a child, she'd had more control than she had now. Why was it behaving this way?
Help me, she said to the voice. What do I do?
It was silent.
Pansy was speaking, worried, but Hermione couldn't pay attention. The other witch's words might as well have been wind blowing in her ear. The burning was getting worse with every second. Sweat ran down her temples and down the back of her neck, soaking strands of hair and plastering them and her clothes to her skin. She looked down at her hands again. At any second, she expected to see her skin begin to blister from inside out.
Draco's words from the day before floated back to her.
"Unleash it."
But what would that lead to?
He was right. She had been afraid before.
She clenched her jaw.
Not this time.
Just as the burning inside her began to reach its peak and she thought she might implode, she raised her wand by instinct and slashed at the air viciously, putting all her body into the movement. All at once, following the trajectory of her furious magic, there was a viciously thick cutting sound and the entire tops of trees further along their path were sliced off cleanly and crashed to the ground in tandem, creating an odd rush of sound that popped their ears.
They felt the weight of the collective impact in the slight tremble of the ground beneath them. Dying leaves rushed to the ground, floating in spirals as if they were dazed by what had just occurred. The now barren and topless trees stood before her silently, razed and silent.
Pansy stared at it, speechless. She had let go of Hermione who had a wrathful and unfocused look about her eyes. Hermione was breathing hard still, her lip snarling slightly.
"My Lady?"
Hermione didn't respond. She stared at what she had done without expression.
Pansy reached out and took her arm cautiously. Hermione was hot to the touch.
"Are you—?"
Hermione shook her hand off gently.
"I'm fine." She sounded distant.
It was true. The headache was ebbing fast, and she was feeling better with every passing second. Now all she felt was exhausted, and she remembered dimly that it probably wasn't wise to have done that when she was still not completely recovered from her mysterious coma. But she didn't regret it. She looked at what she had done and felt power simmering inside her still, a vast untapped source waiting to be loosed.
She felt a weird thrill run through her. After so much time without her magic, she wanted to test it again and see what else she could do.
She let go of the tree she had been using to support herself and staggered slightly. Pansy rushed to help her. Neither of them noticed the way her hand had burnt into the trunk of the tree, leaving a smoldering imprint of her palm that was embedded an inch deep into the wood.
"I can Apparate us back if you don't want to walk anymore," Pansy said.
"No," Hermione said. "I'm not weak. I can keep going."
Without another word or glance, she picked up her skirts and continued onward.
Several hours later, as she and Pansy finally returned and passed through the wards, there was that same feeling of pushing through a slightly resistant barrier, but the moment it recognized their signature, it slackened up so they could continue without issue. As they did, Hermione felt the curious sensation of her features shifting back to her true form.
The Manor was beautifully lit against the dusky sky, its windows a warm and beckoning orange glow. As
That's where the comfort ends, Hermione thought as she and Pansy entered through the kitchen side door.
I'm back, she sent to Draco.
Glad to hear it, he replied instantly. Did it help?
Yes.
He was silent, awaiting more information, but she said no more and proceeded to wash up before meeting them all. Pansy had accompanied her to the bedroom and given her a meaningful look, silently asking whether she needed anything. Hermione had shaken her head.
She wanted a shower but didn't want to make the others wait, so she cleaned herself off with magic and stood in front of the vanity mirror, watching herself carefully.
She looked no different, but at the same time she found it difficult to recognize herself. Standing there with the tap running, she turned her head this way and that, inspecting herself from every angle as if expecting to find a mark she had never had before that was evidence of her transformation, but there was nothing.
When she entered the dining room, Lucio and Draco greeted Hermione warmly. Draco kissed her and led her to the table.
How do you feel? He asked.
Better. She had initially resolved not to tell him what had happened but realizing that even if she asked Pansy not to tell him, he would still find out.
He was watching her, a knowing look in his eye.
Something happened, didn't it?
She tore her gaze away from his and began to eat.
I'll show you later if you behave.
She was taking a drink of water and missed the look of delight and curiosity that flickered in his eyes.
I look forward to it, he said.
The meal went by quickly. Lucio had been fairly quiet. He had sensed something was off about both his parents but couldn't place it yet. He watched them both carefully throughout the dinner, and though they didn't really acknowledge each other for much of that time, he still sensed that there was an unspoken conversation between them, and it confused him all the more.
Mummy didn't look angry, but he felt she was different somehow. It didn't scare him, but he felt apprehensive and worried, so he kept mostly quiet, wondering what might have happened between his parents that he didn't know of yet. Father seemed totally at ease, eating and talking now and then as if nothing were amiss. He asked about his lessons and what he had learned—Lucio answered it all dutifully, fighting the urge to fidget. He wanted to ask what was wrong, if he had been bad without knowing, if daddy had hurt mummy again—but he remembered his father's warning words and the look in his eyes as he'd said them, and his words would shrivel on his tongue.
He wished suddenly that he could leave the house and go stay at a friend's house, but he had no friends. He had made friends in the village the last time they had visited, but they were there so rarely that it was impossible to cultivate a friendship. He would read about that sort of thing in his books sometimes, and it left him with an envy and a longing so deep that he sometimes wished he had been born into a different family. A normal one, whatever normal meant.
He couldn't wait until the day he could start going to school for real and not be alone anymore.
If he had a brother…or a sister, he wouldn't feel so alone. The idea struck him suddenly and he felt excitement light up within him at the prospect.
He would have someone to play with and talk to. He would read to them from his books like mummy did for him, and they would go exploring together and learn magic together and go to school together.
The thought had never crossed his mind before. He had thought he was happy being the only child. But as the possibilities resulting from a sibling presented themselves to him in his imagination, he realized he had never wanted anything as much.
Mummy had promised to read him a story before he went to bed so when it was time for Pansy to escort him to his room he hurried over to his mother's chair and tugged on her sleeve, reminded her of her promise. Father had allowed her to go, so she went with him and Pansy into the nursery. Once there, Pansy had been summoned back to the dining room, so it left just him and mummy.
"What story would you like tonight?" she was saying, studying his bookshelf along the wall.
He had quite the collection at that point—she made it a habit of getting him a new book every time she went down to the village. They had gone through most of them by now. Her fingers trailed over the spines of their favorites, tracing delicately over the gentle wear of their bindings. Outside, it had grown windy. The energetic chatter of the swaying trees was like the rustling skirts of the ocean.
"I don't want a made-up story," Lucio said from his bed, where he sat. He had withdrawn his arms into the body of his shirt so its sleeves hung limp. He twisted at the waist rapidly to make them move and laughed, amused.
Hermione watched, smiling, and sat down beside him.
"Then what would you like to hear?"
"I want to hear about Hogwarts!" he said excitedly. "And the dragons!"
"Alright, then."
She sat back against his headboard and opened her arms. He wriggled around until his arms were back inside his sleeves and hurried into her embrace. She played gently with his curls.
"Hogwarts was a very big and old castle," she began. "It was founded hundreds of years ago by four people, and their names were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They had decided that magic was innate, yes, but it must also be taught, so they would form a school to teach magic so magical people could understand it better. They would put the students in four separate houses, and each one was named after one of the founders: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
Lucio looked up at her.
"Father said he was in Slytherin and you were in Gryffindor."
"Yes, that's right."
"Oh." He thought for a moment. "What about George and Pansy?"
"George was in Gryffindor with me," Hermione said. "And Pansy was also a Slytherin."
His small hands had taken one of hers. He measured his against hers. She watched, smiling gently at the sight of his chubby little hand against her grown-up one. He was already tall for his age. He would grow and grow in the coming years. Would he be as tall as his father? He already looked so much like him. Draco loved that.
If we had a girl, who would she take after more?
"Father says I would have been Slytherin, too," Lucio said.
"No," Hermione replied. "He only says that because his family has always been in Slytherin, but you have my blood in you. You might belong to any house, but what house you end up in doesn't matter because it doesn't define who you really are."
Lucio brought her hand down to the mattress and now played with her fingers, bending them carefully.
"Mummy, when can I go to a real school?"
She hesitated. "I suppose you will when you turn eleven."
He made a face.
"But I want to go now!"
"That's the common age for most children to go to boarding school. You'll have to be patient, my love. You still have some growing to do."
She ruffled his hair. Lucio leaned out of the touch.
"I want friends," Lucio said resolutely. "It's boring here. If father let me down to the village more, I would make so many friends."
"I know you would," she said, tweaking his nose gently. "But your father is very protective. I think he's waiting until your magic comes for you to be a little more independent."
"But why?"
"Why what?"
"Why does he have to be protective?"
Because he's stubborn as an untrained dog. Because he hates it when people mess with what's his. Because you're his heir, and he has enemies that might dare move against him.
"Your father is a powerful man." The words were bitter on her tongue. "He just wants to make sure we don't get hurt."
She squeezed him gently.
Lucio looked at her, trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement. He had decided he couldn't hold back any longer.
"What if I had a brother or a sister to play with?"
Mother looked surprised.
"Oh—" she cleared her throat. She had gone pale, but Lucio didn't think as to why. "Erm—that is a possibility, yes."
"I promise I would help take care of it," he said, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. "I would read to it and play with it and be a good older brother. Please, mother?"
She looked so sad suddenly that it gave Lucio pause.
"Are you really so lonely?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Sweetheart, I don't know," she said, rubbing at her forehead. "I don't think it's the right time, is all."
"Why not?" he asked.
"I don't want to talk about this now," she said, and her voice was firm. "But I'll think about it, okay?"
He nodded, slightly deflated.
She hugged him tightly. "Promise me you won't mention what we just talked about to your father."
Lucio wanted to ask why, but merely nodded instead.
"I'll talk to your father about letting you socialize more with the local children, okay? We'll figure something out so you don't feel so lonely."
"And can I go to school in the village?" he asked.
She sighed and shook her head.
"I'm sorry, my love," she said. "Your father won't allow it. In a few years you will go to school when you are ready and become your own person outside of your father's influence. You are bright and kind, and I want you to learn wonderful things and achieve others, and I want you to see what life has to offer beyond this manor. There's so much to learn, my love. But it all takes time."
He nodded, disappointed but still hopeful.
She stroked his hair. "Did you still want a story?"
Lucio thought for a moment.
"What did Hogwarts look like?" he asked. "Was it very big? As big as our house? Did it have dragons?"
Hermione thought for a moment, then smiled.
"I can show you. Let's go to the library."
Draco was waiting in the bedroom, seated in his favorite armchair and facing the fire when Hermione finally entered. It had grown darker outside and the moon hung high in the sky—the stained-glass window beside the bed glowed eerily with its light.
The room was warm and slightly stuffy from the fire. She felt the temperature change as she'd gone from the nursery to here—the corridors were always cold.
She suppressed a shiver as her body adjusted to the warmth, gooseflesh rolling down the length of her body.
His eyes were on her, waiting.
"How is he?" he asked.
"Our son needs to broaden his social circle," she said, trying to carefully choose her words. "He needs friends. People his own age to talk to and play with. He'll stagnate if he doesn't get that. You've hoarded him in here long enough Draco."
Draco hesitated, then sighed.
"Arrange some playdates for him, then. Pansy will help you."
She hadn't expected that answer. When discussing the children of his followers in the past, Draco had expressed dislike of them, and gave off the impression that Lucio was too good to socialize with them.
"I'll have to approve of them beforehand, of course," he continued, looking thoughtful. "I suppose we have neglected him in that regard, but it's helped him develop his own identity without outside influence. At least when I go out I can defend myself. He's only a child."
"They wouldn't target him," she said stiffly.
"Do you really want to leave that to chance?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Give them an inch, sweetling, and they'll take a league. What better way to strike back at me for what I've done than to kill my only offspring?"
"Then give him your guards," she said. "We can train him to defend himself if that's what it comes to. But if you keep him in here, he won't learn how the world works."
"Then we'll teach him," he said. "Though I suppose most of that work will befall you considering my duties. I'll assist you as much as I can."
Though his offer sounded genuine, she knew the implication behind it.
You want to make sure I won't leave him too soft.
"I imagine this will work to our favor, too. It'll be an honor to the families of whoever we choose as his playmates."
Hermione sighed. She went to him and sat in his lap without him needing to order it.
Satisfied, he held her snugly in his arms and pressed a kiss to the edge of her mouth.
Lucio would be glad to have someone to talk to at last, but now she worried that another child (or children) in the Manor wasn't a good idea when Draco was so volatile.
"I'm tired of everything having to be about whether it favors us or not."
Draco chuckled. "That's how power works, Hermione. If there's an advantage to be had, we take it."
"I know that," she snapped. "I just said I'm tired of it. Of everything having to have an ulterior motive."
"That's never going to change," he replied calmly. "Get used to it."
His thumb smoothed over her shoulder.
"How did it go with George?"
Hermione stared into the fire, her eyes reflecting its light.
"He told me everything."
His hand pulled down her robe from her shoulder, so it gathered loosely at her elbow. He stroked her arm slowly, watching as the fine hairs along her skin raised.
"How do you feel?"
She turned to look him in the eye. "Be honest. Did you know?"
His brow furrowed slightly. "What specifically are you asking about?"
"He said that shortly after they raided your first manor, they decided to stop looking for me."
His brows raised. He seemed genuinely taken aback by that and it unnerved her even as she watched him closely to see if he were playing with her.
"No," he said after a second's pause. "I didn't know that."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm having trouble believing that. Did you set this up on purpose, so George would have to tell me? Did you want me to lose control and attack him? Is that why?"
His hands came up to grip her shoulders gently. His eyes were serious.
"No. This is the first I'm hearing of it. I swear it, Hermione."
She settled slowly, still frowning.
"I only wanted him to tell you about what he's done in service to me," Draco said. "I hadn't really bothered to question him about his past. It held little interest to me."
That made sense.
"Why did they do it?" Draco asked. "Did he say?"
"They were struggling to fight against Voldemort," Hermione said, looking away. "And they decided to withdraw their focus in searching for me. He said they'd been wasting resources."
A contemptuous snort emitted from Draco.
"Fools. So that was their response to a couple of losses. Give up entirely? Their chances at victory would have substantially increased had they bothered to rescue you."
"That's exactly what I told him."
Draco grinned, squeezed her arm. "I'm glad to hear you agree."
"I'm still surprised you didn't know," she said. "I thought you were constantly keeping track of them."
"No," Draco said. He leaned back further against the couch so that they were nearly lying down and kept Hermione close to his chest. "I stopped keeping tabs on them after a while. I figured I had prepared enough with the head start I'd taken…I relished the possibility of being taken by surprise if they did ever manage to find us. But they never did. I told you how slowly they moved, but if they decided to abandon you then that's proof of their idiocy."
He kissed the top of her head. "Why do you think the Dark Lord allowed me to keep and marry you? I told him about how much you've helped Potter, and he likely saw that for himself when he interrogated you. He knew your value and agreed you were better kept as far from Potter as possible. He wouldn't have cared if I'd killed, sold, or married you as long as you were out of the way. Everyone could see the advantage you gave Potter but he himself."
That naïve note he had left on her bed….
Promise me you won't come after us. You'll be safe here.
She tried not to flinch at the memory.
Draco's hand came to her chest, pressed over her heart. His other hand was on her flushed cheek.
"I feel your anger," he said. "You have every right to be angry. Every right. I knew how close you all were—I thought they were more loyal than that. Even Longbottom has fought harder and come closest to helping you over anyone else, but I suppose that's because I killed Potter before he got the chance to. But to make that decision…I wouldn't take that sitting down."
"It's done," she said stiffly. "I can't change what happened. They're all dead and I'm still here."
"That may be, but just know that if I had been in Potter's place, I would have razed the earth until I'd found you. And if anyone had tried to pull me away from that, they'd be strung up in our dungeon."
Our dungeon.
She didn't like the sound of that.
I'll never use it.
Draco considered for a moment.
"If you want to punish George, I'll allow it."
"No," she said. "It wasn't his idea, and everything he's gone through is punishment enough."
Draco caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turned her face to look him in the eye.
"And Longbottom, then?"
"He obviously didn't agree with it if he's been still looking for me all this time. Why would I want to punish him?"
"Because he didn't even try to change their minds."
"That's conjecture," she argued.
"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't," Draco said dismissively. "The only way to know is to talk to him."
She held his stare.
"When?"
"Whenever we manage to catch him."
"You won't touch him when we do," she said. "You will leave him to me."
Draco raised a brow. "And what will you do with him, firebird?"
She took a moment to reply, but when she did it made Draco smile.
"We'll see."
"Then he's all yours, my love."
His hands roamed down towards her hips, relishing the feel of her curves along the way. His lips pressed on her neck. His breath was warm against her face. He began to push his hands underneath her skirt.
Hermione took hold of his wrists, stopping him.
He stopped and looked back at her, expectant and curious.
She held his eye and released his wrist. A metal cuff had appeared on it, and he felt the soft tap of her wand on the other, and then the cold and heavy weight of the other cuff as it forced his free hand behind his back and joined the other to it.
Excitement ran through him like a dart, ending just below his navel. His cock began to stiffen. He smiled, testing them.
"I could break out of these with half a thought," he said. "And I could push you up against that wall and take you any way I want."
"You said I would have my turn," she said. "Well I'm taking it, now."
He smiled. "I didn't actually think you would want to do this. Please, continue."
She watched him for a moment, then pointed her wand at him and divested him of his clothing, piece by piece, until he was nude before her.
The entire time he kept her stare, as if challenging her. He stood proud and elegant, his body chiseled and daunting, his form appearing as if carved by Michelangelo himself. He was erect, his pupils blown wide—she could almost feel his lust like a current of electricity between them. She saw his hands flexing into fists, still restrained by the cuffs, as if he were barely able to contain himself.
Undaunted, Hermione undressed herself next, making him wait as more of her body was revealed with every passing second. Draco was not a patient man. He made to click his fingers and spell the rest of that pesky fabric away, but her voice shot out as if she knew his intention.
"No. You only do what I tell you to."
He almost melted. A lustful shiver ran through him. His cock demanded attention—it twitched now and then as if to beg for stimulation. He almost reached down for it, but their stares were connected, and he was loath to rip his away when she was looking at him the way she was. The threat in her eyes was deliciously dark.
Hermione came to him then—his eyes roved over her figure, over every spot he aimed to mark, to bite, to fill. Anticipation wound inside him like a coil. She stood before him, so close his erection grazed against her front and her chest was a whisper away from his. She looked up into his face and he found himself instinctually leaning forward for a kiss but she turned her head, rejecting it so that his nose trailed along her cheekbone.
He pulled back, more excited by the second.
"What did I just say?" she asked coolly.
"To do only as you tell me."
She raised her brows.
"Did I tell you to kiss me?"
"No."
She reached up and held him by the jaw, locking their gazes together. If he had been melting before, he was a puddle now.
"No, what?" Her eyes were menacing and bright. He'd never seen such beauty.
Whether this was the result of the Horcrux or the reveal of the betrayal of her friends, or even both, he didn't care to consider. The change was more than he ever could have hoped for, and he was beyond thrilled to see what more it had in store for his witch.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed in anticipation. She was so near he could just take her by the hips and with some careful angling, drive himself deep into that perfect cunt. Even now, he could push her front-first onto the bed and punish her for the sheer audacity of ordering him about and denying his kiss, regardless of whether he had approved it or not. It was the hottest thing he could have imagined, even as it slightly irritated him at the same time, as he was long unused to taking orders.
But the thrill of the novelty and the shift in dynamic had arrested him, and held him now in a vice grip, even as his dominant nature rebelled against it
His tongue came out, ran over his bottom lip.
"No, my Lady."
There was another tap of her wand and a stiff leather collar encircled his neck. Draco started in surprise. His vision was almost entirely clouded with lust.
Her smile was almost smug. She smoothed her palm over his cheek. He would have bet his entire fortune that if he reached down and dragged his fingers along her slit, he would find her practically dripping. Her nipples were hard and it would only take the gripping of her shoulders and he'd push her onto the bed and devour those delicious peaks until she begged for him to fuck her. Restraints be damned, he would pin her to the bed and plow her until he was absolutely certain his next heir had been conceived. He would show her who was truly in charge.
But that look in her eyes…
You unleashed it, didn't you, sweetheart? He asked her. You gave in completely.
She stared at him with no expression, but he saw her answer in her stare.
How did it feel? He asked.
How do you think it felt? she said coldly.
He nodded. That sense of power was addicting. It gave him a rush at times, still. To lay such waste, to be able to bend things to his will…addicting. And he saw that it had sparked that similar hunger in his wife, as well.
This is how you always could have been had you not resisted me for so long.
No, she said. This is how I could have been if you'd had my consent from the beginning, instead of cheating your way to gaining it.
She ran her hand down his chest, agonizingly slow. Draco bit back a groan, wanting her to go lower down. Wherever her hand trailed left a path of seared nerves.
Her other hand gripped him by the collar. She made him lean forward so she could whisper in his ear.
"A collar suits you better than it ever could have suited me."
He was so aroused he almost felt dizzy. He wanted to reach down and stroke himself or grab her, but kept still, awaiting her next order.
You can put one on me all you like, he thought to her, but you'll do well to remember that outside these games, you obey me.
She smiled.
Draco watched her carefully, awaiting her next move.
If she had wanted to take him by surprise, she had achieved that through and through. He remembered the promise from the day before as they'd fucked but hadn't quite believed she would go about it this way, or that she would even enjoy it.
I barely allowed myself to hope, he thought to himself. An Imperius would have done the trick, but I wanted it to be real.
"What would you have me do, my Lady?" he asked.
He saw the rush of gooseflesh that rolled out over her skin. Her pupils were dilated and his must have been, too.
"Get on the bed."
She went with him too and sat against the pile of pillows at the headboard. His eyes wouldn't leave her body. She sat there, met his eyes again and opened her legs, bending them at the knee so that they stood as high as her shoulders.
Draco was on the end of the bed on his knees, staring where her hand snaked down and began to rub.
"I want you to sit and watch," she said.
He could have whined in disappointment. She was already wet and glistening, just as he'd predicted. Her fingers rubbed away at her nub and he watched, almost salivating as she closed her eyes and leaned back.
Occasionally she would moan and her hips would push up but she kept a slow pace. She squeezed her breast, pinching and rolling at her nipple with her free hand. He could see her cunt clenching in pleasure, as if inviting him closer. She was so deliciously wet he could hear the wet friction of her fingers against herself. It was more beautiful than any song he'd ever heard. There was a small puddle of precum on the comforter that had dripped from his cock—it was almost painful how hard he was—he would burst if she didn't let him free. He kept flexing his hands into fists behind his back.
She was nearing climax—her eyes opened and she spied him there, miserable with impatience and horny beyond all belief.
Slowly, she pushed two fingers inside herself and began to thrust, moaning more loudly. Her hips pushed against her own hand.
Draco burned.
She opened one eye and met his stare.
"Would you like to join?" she asked, her voice throaty and almost breathless. A sly smile teased her mouth.
He was on her in an instant and were it not for his restrained hands he would have grabbed her around the waist and plunged into her.
"Unleash me, wife," he said, pressing kisses to her thighs.
Her foot pushed him away roughly. He balanced on the bed carefully, narrowly avoiding falling off.
"I asked you a question," she said, sitting up. "I didn't say you could touch me."
Draco flared. He rid himself of the cuffs with a jerk of his wrists, mounted her, shoved her into the mattress roughly, snarling.
"Remember I could break free easily, sweetheart. Instead of entertaining this little game of yours, I could tie you down and fuck you thrice over in each hole until you think twice about ordering me around."
"You were the one who agreed to this," she hissed. "Are you so threatened by not being in control that you can't handle this 'little game'?"
She gripped his collar, tugging him down so that they were nose to nose. Her teeth were bared.
"Is this too much for you, darling?"
His glare could have crumbled mountains. "Don't play at denying me what's mine."
She smiled again, and the hand against his chest traveled down his body until it wrapped around his erection, gave him a slow tug. He barely repressed a shudder.
"If you dislike it so much, then why are you so aroused?"
Her tone was mocking. He distantly recalled having said something similar to her on many occasions past. Her eyes were full of malice. He could have ground her into dust.
Instead, he reached up to press his thumb into her mouth, angling her head upwards to meet his eye more closely.
"Because I know one way or another, I'm going to have you tonight," he replied, his voice almost guttural with want. "How will you have it be, sweetheart?"
She bit him.
He felt no pain but wrenched his hand away in surprise, not having expected it. He felt the throb of an injury and blood welled from his finger. At the same time, his erection throbbed more insistently, aching with desire that had flooded him suddenly. He was glad she had released him, because he was sure she might have tried to snap it in two in the same moment she'd bit him.
He healed himself. She was watching him, a triumphant gleam in her eye, but saying nothing.
How many times had he wished she would bite him, too? Regardless of her intent, it turned him on so much that he was hardly even conscious of his next move. She had sat back up and at once he seized her by the hips and knelt closer, made to have her sit on his cock—until something sharp pressed into his throat and her other hand was gripping his shaft, her talons present and a hair's width from severing him in two.
He froze. He heard his heart pounding in his ears.
Hermione leaned in to whisper into his ear.
"I am in control here."
Gooseflesh erupted over his skin in a tidal wave. He felt his balls tighten as if he might come at that very second.
She gave him a slow, menacing stroke. Draco grit his teeth, trying to calm his desire. Her talons dragged gently along him—his breath caught both in the sensation and the apprehension but there was no damage or pain.
"Do you understand?"
When he didn't reply fast enough he felt one sharp talon press into his ballsack. His cock jerked and even through the (now clearing) haze of lust, he felt a pinprick of fear.
"Yes, my Lady," he said.
She smiled and withdrew her talons. "Good. There won't be another warning."
She took him by the chin and gave him a short kiss. "Now stay as you are."
After restraining his hands again, she resumed playing with herself and torturing him with the view. The seconds crawled by. Draco's restraint was worn so thin it took a fair amount of energy to hold himself back. He was not used to being made to wait like this, and it annoyed him so much he wanted to go through with his threat and unbind himself and take her anyway, but he remembered how easily her talons had ripped his throat open before and imagined what they might do with his genitalia.
Would he feel pain from it? No, not likely, if how she had gored him recently was proof. But he was by no means eager to see such a dear part of him mutilated and wasn't keen on testing whether it could grow back or not if she cut it off entirely. He wasn't quite sure the Horcrux could perform that sort of miracle.
He was softening. Draco focused away from those thoughts and went back to watching his wife finger herself.
He was not used to this. He knew what she wanted and told himself it would not happen. But his patience continued to dwindle. And surprisingly, despite his annoyance, he was more aroused than he'd ever been in his life. Painfully so, just as she'd been too pleased to point out.
He recognized when she was about to come. He saw the little jerks of her hips, the unrestrained pleasure of her expression, the twitching of her thighs. Her pace was faster now, and it only took a matter of seconds until she came with a loud exclamation. Draco watched it all avidly, wishing it were his fingers inside her, his mouth over hers as she gasped.
Inside, he warred with himself over whether to speak or not. The words were ready on his tongue:
Free me, sweetheart. Let me touch you. I won't last much longer like this.
But he didn't want to beg. She was his by right, and he would not beg for something that was already a given. She would remember this was a game, and that once she'd had enough, these restraints would come off and be transferred back to her, and it would be her duty to submit.
And if you need reminding of your role, my love, I'll be glad to help you remember.
She was sitting up, wiping her hand on the bedspread. Her cunt glistened enticingly in the dim light—Draco stared at it.
"Lie on your back," she ordered.
He did so at once, watching in bated anticipation as she came over and straddled him, her hands bracing against his torso, her lower lips sliding so agonizingly slow over his length.
He couldn't help the moan that dragged itself from his throat.
"Do you have something to say?" she asked sweetly. She had reached down and gently played with his ballsack.
"Let me in, sweetheart," he gasped. His head pressed back into the mattress.
She let out a short laugh.
"Still making demands?"
She stopped abruptly. Draco bit his lip, forcing back his groan.
She took his hands, put them on her hips. They pressed in deep, pushed her into his groin as he ground against her, trying to angle his hips so that he could pierce her. Her hand prevented insertion.
"Sweetheart…"
Her free hand stroked his abdomen slowly.
"Yes, husband?"
"Move your fucking hand."
She laughed. "So stubborn."
She made to get off him. Draco's hands clung to her, refused to let her break their contact.
She raised a brow.
"Was there something else you wanted to say?"
His eyes were glazed with lust, fixated on her and almost pleading.
"Please," he made himself say.
"Please what?"
"Fuck me, my Lady." She slowed to an excruciating grind over the head of his cock. He swore lo
Satisfied, she settled back over him. Her hand continued to rub at his chest.
"I expected you to last longer," she said, sounding almost disdainful. "Somehow, I really did. You're weaker than I thought."
Anger flared within him at her words, but she was rubbing against him again, spreading her wetness on him, and it was enough to drive the insult away, but he made a mental note to make her pay for it later. Right now, all that mattered was that contact.
"Only for you," he gasped.
She let out a long breath, as if trying to keep from moaning.
"Have you had enough?"
"Yes," he heard himself say, sounding as if he were in pain. His hands twitched, restrained against the bed as they were. He longed to grip her, squeeze, hold her in place. Sweat dewed along his body in anticipation and desire. "Please—"
Hermione cut him off with her hand over his mouth.
"How sweet you sound when you beg," she remarked. "I could get used to this."
Enjoy it, he thought angrily, even as his hips pushed up against her. It won't happen again.
But that thought fled quickly—she was finally, finally, pushing herself down onto him slowly.
At last she freed his hands. Her heat enveloped his length completely—Draco hissed in pleasure, grabbed at her hips, grinding against her.
She moaned and began to bounce on him. Draco moaned, watching the way her body moved. He was so close already. It wouldn't take long. All she needed to do was go faster. Or he could release himself and pin her down and pound until she could no longer form a coherent sentence.
"I like you like this," she said, slowing to look at him thoughtfully. "Tied up and following orders… I like it more than I thought I would."
Draco panted for breath, but managed to give her a lazy smile. "You see how it can get addicting?"
"Don't even pretend that what you do to me is similar to this," she said, narrowing her eyes. "We both want it now. From the beginning, you forced this on me without my consent. Of course I wasn't going to like it then."
He chose not to respond. An argument in the middle of this was the last thing he wanted, especially when he was so close. She seemed to realize this at the same time and said nothing else.
It wouldn't take much longer now. He was almost there—he could feel it building up quickly. She was moaning, grinding against him and her hips were a sight to behold as they moved. He could tell she was almost there, too. He could feel the clutch of her body tightening around him. Her eyes were pinched shut, and within seconds it hit her—she bucked into him, her breaths rasping, her voice sweet and low. She had dropped low so that she was almost horizontal over him, curling into herself. Her hair was damp with sweat and it shone on her breasts—he wanted to pull her down and have his mouth on them. The thought spiked him dangerously close to climax.
On instinct, without thinking, he tightened his grip and began to thrust upwards into her at a ferocious pace, his expression one of tormented pleasure as his orgasm approached. Hermione sucked in a breath—her eyes had been closed for the duration of her climax and she hadn't seen it happening. He moved, as if about to roll her underneath him.
"No," she snarled.
She took his hands and pried them from her body, her strength flaring with magic. She pinned them down again onto the bed, crouching over him, breathing hard. He slipped out of her in the movement and she had stopped moving—Draco groaned, clenching his teeth. He felt his orgasm falter and then continue, but at a much lower intensity than he had almost had. Cum leaked from his cock—he felt no satisfaction and little pleasure. Disappointment and annoyance clashed inside him.
She slapped him.
When Draco faced her again, she was breathing hard still, her talons exposed and inches from his throat. Her eyes were enraged, tinged red.
He froze her, equally furious.
She strained against his magic's hold, trying to tear it down.
"I didn't say you could move," she said. One of her fingers managed to twitch. "And I never said you could cum."
"It was a reflex, firebird," he said carefully, looking into her eyes like she were a creature he'd encountered in the wild and hoped to tame. "I wasn't thinking."
"Clearly," she snapped, indignant. "But you still disobeyed me."
Another finger managed to flex against his freezing spell. Draco frowned, adding another over it.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just used to being the one who makes the orders around here."
She finally stopped fighting his hold and relaxed. Draco dropped his defenses, frowning.
"Yet you liked this."
"I did." He grinned. "Feel free to do that as often as you like. But I'll want retaliation."
She looked at him scornfully.
"Oh, heaven forbid that your preciously dominant masculinity is ever threatened." She climbed off of him and stood from the bed.
Draco stood off the bed, magicking his semen from the sheets and his skin. Hermione had stood too, and had gone into the bathroom to turn on the shower.
He found her in there, testing the water's warmth.
Draco went to her from behind, put his hand on her hip and pulled her back into him, his mouth grazing against her shoulder. His cock grazed against her ass.
She knew his want and pushed herself away.
"No," she said. "You don't deserve it."
Steam had clouded the air in the bathroom, and it obscured her from his view as the shower door shut in his face.
Draco smiled and walked away.
A/N: I think I've been stretching myself thin for a while now, juggling two active WIPS. I'm going to be more careful moving forward to prevent another burnout. In the meantime, I am working on a little project to celebrate the ten-year anniversary of His Little Bird, so stay tuned on my social media (links in bio). I'll be posting bits and bobs of it on my Wordpress as well!
Thanks as always for your support xx